Mafia Z
by g33kg1rl
Summary: AU: In a world of mob bosses, underground crime rings, and prohibition, Son Gohan lives a uniquely happy life with his father, Goku, and his mother, Chi-Chi - Happy, until the day Don Vegeta calls upon his father for a job, and everything goes horribly wrong, and Gohan is taken hostage by a rival Family. Piccolo/Gohan
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan.

* * *

~~~~~Prelude~~~~~

"You know what this will mean, don't you? You'll be on their list. You, your wife, and your kids…no one will be safe."

He swallowed hard, staring at the paper sitting in front of him, unable to look at the man across the table from him. The darkness that hung in the rafters of the old fishery creaked and left silver cobwebs fluttering across newspaper taped windows. "But you promised us protection?"

"You'll get it. Just keep a low profile. I got my men coming at the end of the week to pick you and your family up. But I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into. We need your testimony, but it'll cost you – you'll have to move. You'll have to change your names, never speak to anyone you know again. No letters to your dear old mom or that brother of yours. Especially him. If you want out, you are going to have to do it and be dead to them."

He shifted in his seat, looking up finally at the man across the table. The man wore a pinstriped suit and he crossed his arms over his broad chest, all three of his eyes peering out from under his hat, the brim shadowing his face. The two agents behind him kept guard, peeking out through holes in the newspapers to make certain they weren't noticed. Tugging at his collar and wishing he hadn't gotten dressed up for this, he nodded and took the pen in hand, his heart hammering. "I know; and they'll understand. It's the right thing to do."

"Then sign the papers."

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded, firm and resolute and with a quick hiss of the pen upon paper, Son Goku signed his agreement with the Feds to try and put an end to the Saiyan Mafia family once and for all.

It was the right thing to do.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I was talking with my good friend, Spacefille (who was also the driving force in encouraging me to write this), and we got to talking about how interesting Piccolo is around only Gohan. Well, one thing led to another, and it dawned on us, that if Piccolo hatched from an egg only about four years before he actually fought Goku in that tournament, that means that he and Gohan are actually very close in age and to us, it was a revelation that that was why Piccolo ended up bonding so closely to Gohan - he himself was a kid who had to grow up fast, and Gohan gave him that opportunity to finally make a friend without the little squirt even trying. It was fascinating! That was just the start. Eventually I got to this point where I was writing Mafia fiction AU Dragon Ball Z :) heh I hope you like~


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan.

* * *

~~~~~1~~~~~

They moved swiftly, darting through the shadows of the city like ghosts; nothing more than darkness and death whispering behind the footsteps of their victim. Cymbal raised his hand and Piccolo stopped, his antennae twitching as he sensed the area, feeling out for the life forces of those around him.

There was no one else. Just the man and themselves.

He swallowed hard, glancing up at the Enforcer next to him. Piccolo gripped the wood handles of his weapon, holding tight to either end and feeling the butterflies within his belly threaten to crawl up and out of his throat. Their father had insisted it was time. After three years of shadowing his half brother on missions, their father, Don Piccolo Daimao, insisted he graduate and take the next step.

The man staggered and laughed. The alcohol rolling off him in waves and Piccolo wrinkled his nose at the smell. The nerves didn't leave, but his confidence returned. The man before them was a waste of water and air. No wonder Father was tired of his clumsy and useless space.

"Now." The half-namekian whispered and Piccolo stepped out, his movements fast and strong for a boy no more than twelve, and Piccolo leapt upon him, his piano wire garrote slipping over the man's head and with a twist of his arms and a shove of his knee against the man's back, the sickening slide of wire into flesh gargled the man's speech. He flailed, clawing at his neck and Piccolo snarled, barring his fangs and pulling back on the wire all the harder. The man struggled and writhed under him with wet noises foaming from his mouth. His nails ripped against the wire and his fingers grew bloody; but his movements slowed and till they grew still.

Piccolo controlled his fall, easing him to the pavement without lessening his hold and after a minute, and without a twitch from the man's body, Piccolo finally relaxed and unwound the wire from his head. He wiped at his brow panting, his heart raced wildly with adrenaline.

The unmoving body at his feet was odd. Piccolo had seen plenty of dead men before; he had joined Cymbal on his missions for the last three years, learning what it took to be an Enforcer and a future Don. He had never stared at a dead man before knowing his hand ended their miserable life.

Scowling, Piccolo turned to Cymbal and tossed the bloody garrote at him and bent down to wipe his hands clean upon the man's overcoat. "This was too good for the thief and liar."

Cymbal narrowed his eyes, pocketing the wire. "You did your father proud. The Don will be pleased."

Piccolo shrugged, but a spike of pleasure flared in his chest. His father would be proud of him for this. He fought the smile and folded his arms instead, glaring at the dead man. "We should go."

They left, moving just as silent and quick as they had before, leaving the scene behind, escaping into the shadows and back home where Don Piccolo Daimao kissed his son upon the cheeks and toasted his success and reminded all that Piccolo Jr. was his heir and would be just as powerful as himself. The praise filled Piccolo with pride and determination. He would prove to his father he was the best. In fact, he would become the best Enforcer in all of his father's family. He would prove he could not only lead this family, but enforce it as well.

* * *

Gohan peeked around the corner of the hallway from his room, watching his mother and father whisper to one another in the parlor. He couldn't hear them, but mother was crying even though she had that look on her face that said she wasn't going to give up.

His father bowed his head, his shoulders falling and his mother finally smiled, sad and wet, and she leaned toward him, sliding her arms about his broad shoulders and pulled him in close to her. She ran her fingers through his hair and he gripped at her shoulder, hiding himself against the crook of her neck.

"It'll be okay." She said loud enough for Gohan to hear. He frowned and turned, sneaking back into his room with his tail between his legs and carefully shut the door. He glanced at his school books, knowing he should really finish his homework otherwise his mother was going to scold him for his slackness; but if he sat down to work, he knew he wouldn't be able to focus.

Instead, Gohan pulled his burnt orange colored tweed jacket on and opened his bedroom window, slipping outside into the crisp evening air. The sun still hung low; maybe only half an hour till seven; and the slowly encroaching autumn air remained relatively warm due to its rays. It was just warm enough to be comfortable and just crisp enough to clear his head, and Gohan sighed in relief. What would make mother cry and make his father look so sad? His father was never sad. People called him Smiley because he was always grinning. Even when that small scary guy came around, Mr. Vegi-something, his father never failed to smile and laugh and make the other man angry at him, even as he offered his father a job working for him; but father always refused with that same, happy smile.

Gohan squatted down, cupping his face in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees and watched the sunset. His tail wove slowly back and forth through the air. It bugged him and he didn't like feeling like this. Maybe if he just asked them? He was getting older and father was right, he needed to grow up. If he could help them somehow, he would feel so much better.

"Gohan!"

He jerked his head up and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see his mother rush to the window and exhale loudly as she spotted him. His father nearly tripped out the front door as he burst out onto the porch and he did the same thing, sighing in relief and visibly deflated once he saw him. His father's tail was puffed up too. Gohan didn't think he had ever seen it that way before.

"I'm sorry, mother, I was just thinking. It got stuffy in my room." He stood and wandered over to the window, his fingers tugging and digging at the hem of his jacket, nervously looking from his mother to his father. "I just…." He paused and swallowed, "I was just wondering what you were talking about." He frowned, dropping his head in shame. Eavesdropping – no good boy did that sort of thing. He half expected his mother to scold him. "It seems like it's bad and…and I want to help."

His mother pulled back, her hand to her heart and his father pushed his hands into his pockets, his suspenders glaring and orange against his white shirt.

"Gohan-"

"Chichi, Gohan and I are going to the market before it closes. Do you need us to pick up anything?" his father interrupted and Gohan frowned, peeking back up at his parents.

Her fingers curled in her blouse but she shook her head, blinking her eyes quickly. "No…just hurry back." She whispered, hoarse and shaky, and she shut the window.

Slapping his hand down upon his shoulder, his father turned him and they headed for the road, their shoes kicking up gravel. His father's hands were so large. Gohan wondered if he would grow to be as tall as him one day. He thought he would like that. He wanted to keep everyone he loved safe just like his father made him feel safe.

"Gohan, you know what I do for a living, right?"

Gohan nodded slowly. "I…I think so."

"Can you tell me what you think it is?" He asked, turning to look at his son and Gohan's insides clenched. His father looked so – ashamed.

"Well, you are a boxer. You train hard and if you win, you get to bring home prize money." he wasn't sure of himself anymore.

Smiling – though it didn't reach his eyes – his father nodded. "I am a prize fighter, yes; but I don't always fight in legitimate ring fights." He frowned. "I…I do a lot of underground fights, Gohan. Your uncle Radditz, he…" He winced and he stopped, staring down at Gohan.

"Father?"

"When your uncle Radditz and I were younger, we…we joined up with the Saiyan Mafia family. We had a cousin at the time whose family had been with them for generations and we thought that it would be the only way we could live. Back then, it was really hard for saiyans to get jobs, and I had just met your mother and I just wanted to give our family the life I never did and..." he licked his lips and Gohan felt his lower lip trembling. He didn't know why he was so upset. But he was and he felt tears gathering at the corner of his eyes even as he hung on his father's every word.

"Your Grandpa taught Radditz and me to fight, you know? And I loved it. I was really good at it too. I thought maybe if I joined too, the Saiyan Mafia could get me into the big prize money rings and I could start a career. But-"he rubbed at the back of his head. "But the underground games paid more and I got to keep more of the cash. It seemed like a good deal."

His father became quiet and Gohan rubbed at his eyes, biting his lower lip to keep himself from making any noise. His nose clogged, his head hurt, and tears ran hot over his cold cheeks and Gohan couldn't move. He just couldn't. This wasn't what he thought his father did.

"A few years back, Mr. Vegeta came to me and said he had a job for me, and he would pay me himself. I just had to…" He swallowed hard, "I just had to beat someone up. Tell them to not be late on their payments again, and then I could leave. Radditz came with me and I did my job. I, I beat up the guy with his family watching and…it wasn't what Vegeta said it would be. After I finished my part, Radditz cut the man's fingers off." He winced and Gohan watched tears gather in his father's eyes and it made everything worse. "I didn't know he was going to do that. I would have stopped him."

Gohan hiccupped against his will and his father flinched but as he wiped his eyes and looked down at him, Gohan didn't care. He was actually kind of happy his father was feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry…I told Vegeta I wouldn't do it anymore but he…he makes me do it sometimes. I have to if I want to keep you and your mother safe. But last year, I watched Mr. Nappa kill someone because that was what his orders were, and I had enough. I told the police and they got the Feds involved. They made me a deal, Gohan. They said they would keep us all safe if I testified against the Saiyan Mafia in court. With what I saw, I can at least put away some of the big guys." He bowed his head and Gohan wiped his nose on his jacket, making a ragged sound in the back of his throat.

His father wasn't a prize fighting athlete. He was something he didn't even know what to call. He didn't know what to think anymore. His father had always been his hero and now? Now he was just like any other guy on the street willing to do anything for money.

Father's hand landed on his shoulder again and Gohan hiccupped, suddenly hating those large hands. The same hands used to hurt people.

"Come on, let's go home." He whispered and turned Gohan around, walking back in silence.

It didn't last long though. Just as they came within sight of the front porch, a pair of runners raced toward them, panting as they stopped in front of Goku.

"Boss wants to see you." The one on the left panted, lifting a hand to push his hat back onto his head. "Gots something for you that is real important."

"No." Goku said and pushed past them and Gohan felt his fingers tighten on his shoulder. He glanced over at the two men; the one on the right scowling.

"No ain't going to work tonight, Mr. Son. Boss said you have to work late tonight or you know what will happen."

He stiffed and Gohan grabbed his father's shirt, tears racing down his cheeks and he didn't care if the other men thought him a baby. He didn't want his father to go. He knew now what this would mean and he didn't want it to end up like this. "Father…"

Patting him on the back, Goku bent down to look Gohan in the face, his smile fake. "Now now, you run along and tell your mother I'll be working late. Maybe she'll be able to buy that material for a new dress now. I'll be home soon. You be good for your mother, son."

Gohan pushed against him and turned, running from him, his lungs gasping for air. He scrambled up the steps of his home and he jerked the door open, slamming it shut behind him and he didn't stop till he fell into his mother's arms, crying against her apron.

"Oh, Gohan." She whispered and hugged him tight, carding her fingers through his hair. "It'll be all right soon enough." She soothed and he wished he could believe her.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I was talking with my good friend, Spacefille (who was also the driving force in encouraging me to write this), and we got to talking about how interesting Piccolo is around only Gohan. Well, one thing led to another, and it dawned on us, that if Piccolo hatched from an egg only about four years before he actually fought Goku in that tournament, that means that he and Gohan are actually very close in age and to us, it was a revelation that that was why Piccolo ended up bonding so closely to Gohan - he himself was a kid who had to grow up fast, and Gohan gave him that opportunity to finally make a friend without the little squirt even trying. It was fascinating! That was just the start. Eventually I got to this point where I was writing Mafia fiction AU Dragon Ball Z :) heh I hope you like~


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan.

* * *

~~~~~2~~~~~

Goku scrubbed at his hands, shaking and panting, Chichi knocking on the door as quietly as possible so she wouldn't wake up Gohan – but he could hear the desperation in her whispers as she hissed through the door.

_Radditz had explained the job – a grocery owner; who also owned a speak-easy behind his wares; had refused to pay because he claimed he now was under the Namekian Mafia Family's protection. The bar made good money and Don Vegeta refused to let it go without a fight._

_What Radditz had failed to anticipate was a sudden burst of the Namekian Family arriving in the bar to celebrate. Voices rose from the front room and Goku paused in his beating of the owner, staring at the door as the shadowy outlines of tall men with antennae walked past. Radditz hissed and they instantly went on alert, looking for a way out other than through the only door that led into the middle of a crowd of their rivals._

"_Naaaaail! Get the owner. He has the good shit behind the counter." A voice drawled like a bullhorn._

"_Yes, Guru." And a second later the doorknob turned and revealed a very young namekian standing in the doorway. He was no more than fifteen or sixteen and he gasped, eyes wide at the sight in front of him._

_Goku raised his hand to his lips but Radditz snarled and lunged, missing the boy as he ducked instinctively away._

_The grocery front went silent, the door to the speakeasy halfway open and every pair of namekian eyes were locked on Radditz and Goku; and all hell broke loose._

Wincing and shaking his head, the soap slipped from his hands and Goku chased after it, gasping as he curled his fingers around it and it actually molded to the shape of his fist. He flung the soap away and he stumbled backward, leaning against the little table his wife used for all her powders and perfumes.

There had been so much fighting. He had held his own, no one namekian getting the best of him – not till the older man. He had come out of nowhere, hit him hard in the side.

_Piccolo Daimao stabbed him in the shoulder and Goku screamed, grabbing his shoulder and stumbling backward. The namekian grinned, a wicked thing emphasized only by his angular and gaunt face. He knew who he was, and he now knew why the whispers on the street called the man the Demon King. He practically radiated pure evil. He was the Don of the Namekian Mafia Family, and he certainly deserved the title._

_The knife glimmered in the light and bottles broke behind Goku. Flour burst in the air and filled his nose with the dry smell. Shouts raged all around as Radditz fought back just as hard. Then Don Piccolo Daimao rushed him and he fought back, desperate and yet finding himself actually enjoying the challenge. They pushed one another, each gaining the upper hand at least a dozen times, both scouring countless blows and then pushing themselves to fight even harder._

Goku ran his hand down his face and shook, jerking his hand from his face to look at his hands, at the purple stains upon his skin and the ugly dried bits under his nails.

_He had heard gunfire and Radditz's scream. Goku turned, just long enough to see his brother shot and falling, a hole in his chest where his heart should have been with a namekian child standing over him with a rifle in hand._

_The Don hit him across the head and he felt blood rush over his left eye, and before he realized what he had done, Goku stared wide eyed at the gagging man, his mouth moving uselessly as purple blood dripped from his lips and Goku jerked his hands away from the knife he had forced through the namek's chest and through his heart._

"Goku, please." Chichi begged and Goku opened the door, wishing he hadn't but it was too late.

Chichi studied him first before she gently took his hands in hers and led him to the bathtub where she ran him a bath. She held him as he sank to his knees and gripped her tightly about the waist. He didn't cry, but he trembled and he hid against her, seeing the flashes of pain and heat and power fly through his mind. His face buried against her stomach and he gripped at her dress, grinding his teeth with a little shake of his head.

Here he was, just four days away from safety; from escaping this life; and he had done the one thing he thought he was going to be able to escape unscathed. He hadn't killed anyone before; he hadn't wanted too nor needed too; but this - this hadn't even been ordered and it made it so much worse.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan.

* * *

~~~~~3~~~~~

Piccolo stared, jaw tight, claws biting into the palms of his hands as his father's body was moved, carried quickly out of the grocer's store and into the back seat of a Ford. He wouldn't look away. He studied everything; the way his father's eyes refused to close completely, the glassy look to them, the white film discoloring his red irises. He stared at the knife in his father's chest, still outlining faintly the hand of the man who had shoved it through his chest. Piccolo growled, lips curling back to flash his fangs.

"Piccolo-"

He snarled and the slightly older boy raised a brow, seeming unfazed when facing his anger. Nail. It was Nail.

Piccolo knew him. He knew him. Nail was one of his closest friends. He went to school with him. He trained with him in the morning. Nail was very loyal.

It took him several minutes to relax but when he did, Nail stepped forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder and Piccolo stared more at Nail's chest then anywhere else.

"Father is dead." He said and somehow it left bile on his tongue.

Nail pulled him away quickly from the crowds, leading him through a backdoor and out into the alley where Piccolo was able to throw up his water behind some garbage cans. Nail stood guard, staring at the opening to the alley, arms folded, head held high and Piccolo momentarily hated him. He could remain calm and stoic while he was here wasting water over his father. His father would have struck him for his weakness.

Wiping his mouth and stumbling as his head spun, Piccolo took a moment to breathe, swallowing thickly around his raw throat.

"Guru wants to talk to you." Nail said suddenly, still staring only at the opening of the alley.

"I don't want to speak to my uncle." Piccolo spat on the ground before leaning his head back against the wall.

Nail glanced over his shoulder and Piccolo narrowed his eyes, the corner of his lip twitching in a threatening way.

"Guru said you are going to hear him whether you like it or not."

He growled but winced nonetheless. Guru never kid around. "Can't it wait."

"No." Nail sighed and he genuinely sounded grieved. "Unfortunately, no. With this tragic turn of events, Guru believes we have to move swiftly or face an uprising within the ranks." Nail turned completely toward him, his open vest cut far too long to accommodate his lanky body. "It's no secret your father's bastard child, Cymbal, has openly voiced his displeasure with his father's logic in his choice of heir. He may be a bastard, but he was his first born nonetheless."

Piccolo looked away, his stomach roiling again but he forced the feeling away and pushed back from the wall. "What does Guru want?"

"Come." Nail waved his hand to the end of the alley where a car sat waiting. He didn't remember it parked there when they had first come out.

He narrowed his eyes, studying Nail. Nail he trusted, Guru, never. "I'm not going anywhere without my men to accompany me."

"You have me." Nail pushed his shoulders back, daring him.

Piccolo pursed his lips, straightening up and marching right up to Nail, staring up at the older boy and pushing into his space. "You would go against your own father to protect me?"

"You are my Don. I would protect you with my life." Nail hissed back and pushed right back into Piccolo, their chests separated by only their clothing. "And with my life, I serve you – and that may mean gathering information if need be to serve my Don."

Piccolo considered Nail, staring into his dark eyes. With a slight nod, Piccolo took a step back and waved his hand, motioning Nail to lead the way.

The ride back to the family home went by in a blur. He kept seeing it, the man in the grocery store, fighting his father and getting beaten down time after time and yet always rising up. Then he saw him, stopping his father's hand that held a knife. With a twist that hadn't seemed possible, the man had wrenched his father's wrist, took the weapon, and shoved his father's own knife into his chest. He saw it, he could still hear the sound of the knife slicing through the fabric, the hollow gasp of air his father took. No wild scream, no groan of pain, just a silent and surprised gasp.

"Piccolo."

He jerked his eyes from the window and stared at Nail, standing next to his door, waiting for him patiently.

Piccolo fumbled with the handle and jumped from the car, striding long and fast up the walk and he took the porch stairs two at a time. He wanted to get this over with.

Nail ran after him, catching up in time to open the door for him and lead him through Guru's personal villa within the Namekian Family's compound. Off to the right and through an elegant archway, Piccolo found his uncle, sitting in his overstuffed chair before the fire, staring into the flames with heavy frown and lines and age streaking his face. At nearly sixty, his uncle looked it and yet he still fathered children like a stud in the field. Nail was only his twenty-sixth child. Legitimate child anyway. Dende, his youngest child, made the legitimate count reach at least forty-two.

He stopped hard, swallowing against the lump that suddenly rose in his throat.

"Naaaaail. Please leave us, I must speak to my nephew alone." His voice drawled.

Nail bowed weakly and paused only long enough to give Piccolo a look before he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Piccolo folded his arms, pushing his shoulders back and narrowing is eyes. His uncle was brash but shrewd. He was not one to underestimate, even with his enormous size.

Struggling out of his chair, Guru waddled over to him, his frown never wavering. Piccolo wondered how honest he was being with his sympathy.

"You are now the Don of this family, Piccolo. But I fear there are conspirators within these walls that will do you harm if you take your father's seat at such a young age."

His lips curled back. "I am more than ready to take my father's place, old man."

Guru bobbed his head. "Yes, you may be strong enough, but you are not yet wise enough to lead this family."

Piccolo growled, but the words struck home and he failed to hide the wince that flickered over his face. "Lord Slug said I was ready." He grumbled.

Guru blinked in surprise and stared at Piccolo for a moment before his wail rose. "Oh! So he's calling himself a Lord! That pretentious prick!" He bellowed and Piccolo flinched.

His uncle confused him – most times.

With a huff, Guru settled, once more serious. "I see you know my words are true. That is good. It means that as you grow, you will become a wise leader for our family." He tilted his head and Piccolo stared right back, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. Nail had his father's eyes, the same dark and cunning eyes. It annoyed him. Whereas Nail was tactful, his uncle was a total bastard. Though he would never say that to his face.

Guru huffed and turned, waddling back to his chair and taking a seat with a massive groan. "I do not want to offend you, Piccolo. I will follow my brother's wishes and accept you as Don of this family; but you will not live long enough to become more than a flash in the pan in our family's leadership."

"Look here!" Piccolo shouted, stomping up to him.

Guru raised his hand and Piccolo halted, wishing he didn't feel scared.

"You haven't heard my proposal yet!" Guru bellowed, dragging out his chastisement as vocally as possible.

The hearth crackled and popped, the room was truly comfortable and quiet. Rich fabrics, more books than Piccolo had ever seen in one place, and pictures all around of his children, his grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Guru loomed before him, illuminated bythe fire and for a moment, Piccolo wondered what he would be like as a father. If the stories were true, his uncle had been just as terrifying an Enforcer as his own father. Yet, this man kept pictures off all his children. Even the bastard ones.

Piccolo bowed his head and Guru snorted and looked back into the fire. "My proposal is that you allow me to run the family until you come of age. You will continue your training as both a warrior and future Don of this family. You cannot accept this position as head of the family unless you are completely ready for the role. Do you agree?"

Piccolo flinched and dug his claws into the palms of his hands. He didn't want to agree to anything this namekian said. He was everything he didn't want to be when he grew up. Yet he was right. Just as his father always said – for being a sadistic bastard who more often than not embarrassed the family, Guru knew how to survive in this world. He was indispensible. His father's right hand advisor. Piccolo understood why.

Guru grunted and Piccolo hissed, his antennae twitching with his annoyance. He didn't want to tell him he was right! But it was useless hiding the truth.

Walking up to his chair and waiting for Guru to look up at him, a single brow raised, Piccolo scowled and nodded. "I agree. I am certain my father would agree as well. We had all assumed he would hand the family over to me from his deathbed, but obviously my youth is a factor. Being murdered in a grocers market certainly hadn't been in his plans." His teeth ground together and Guru bobbed his head.

"Good. Then are we in agreement? I will be a…a Lord overseeing the family until you come of age and are ready to take over the role of Don of the family?"

Piccolo's brow twitched, but it was acceptable. "Yes, uncle. Though I certainly don't trust you as far as I can throw you; you are the only one capable of running this family."

Guru laughed then, a reedy sound that boomed at the same time. "I am the only one you can trust!" He yelled and laughed again.

Piccolo sneered and wondered how true that was.

"Naaaail!" Guru drawled, turning his head toward the door.

"Yes, Guru?"

"I am now to be known as Lord Guru!"

Nail's brow twitched but he hid it well with a nod, "Yes, Lord Guru."

"This is ridiculous." Piccolo hissed.

"Naaaail!" Guru looked back to his child.

"Yes, Lord Guru?"

"Slap this impudent child across the head! He has disrespected his Lord Guru!"

Piccolo threw his hands in the air and turned, stalking away from his chair and past Nail who had the decency to look just as annoyed as he did. "Just remember!" Piccolo roared over his shoulder. "I will take back the family in a few years!"

"Do not worry." He hummed, lolling his head from his chair. "You will claim your throne when you are grown."

Piccolo nodded, drawing himself up to look more imposing, like a bird puffing out its feathers. "And I have my first request to the Lord Guru."

Guru shifted, clearly surprised by this.

Pulling his lips back and exposing his fangs, Piccolo rumbled deep in his chest. "When we find the bastard who killed my father, I want to be the one who kills him."

Raising a brow, Guru stared right back at him. Nail shifted nervously, glancing back and forth between Piccolo and his father.

A nod and a wave of his hand, Guru agreed. "Done. Make the bitch squeal."

He smirked and bowed his head. Turning away from his uncle and cousin, he strode out of the villa and back out into the Namekian Family compound, walking the vast streets back to his home.

But as he stood outside, staring up at the large, rounded windows and the pointed spires upon the roof, studying the hollow darkness that waited inside, Piccolo felt it then, the emptiness that really did wait for him now. His father dead, his half-brother conspiring against him, his only true friend served his father, Guru, as little more than a glorified servant for his future benefit and gathering information.

He was alone. Revenge would have to keep him warm. Piccolo clenched a fist, his insides coiling. He would find that man with the boyish face and tail, he would rip out his stupid hair, dig his insides out with a spoon, and he would sew him back up just to repeat the process. No respite. The man would pay. He'd torture him and he'd delight in his agony. He'd take away his life just as he had taken away his father's; but he'd just do it slower.

* * *

Author's note:

I totally and unashamedly took Lord Guru's character from Team Four Star - they do the Dragon Ball Z abridged. I just could NOT not do it because, lets face it, that version of Guru is better fit to a Mafia Family than the gentle and life-giving Guru in the canon series. :) plus, TFS Guru is FUN to write! :D


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan. This chapter has a lot of hit'age of childrenz o_o

* * *

~~~~~4~~~~~

They knocked on his door, sharp and demanding and even Nail pursed his lips in annoyance.

Guru nodded and Nail opened the door. It had been four days since the Don's death, and Guru had successfully placed himself in a role of leadership within the Namekian Mafia family. He had only needed to kill three men. Surprisingly, Cymbal was not one of them.

"Lord Guru." They both fell to a knee and bowed their heads. Guru smirked at that. That was one thing his brother never understood, forcing acts of respect could inspired actual respect amongst the weaklings.

"You may speak. Quickly."

They hesitated, uncertain if he was serious.

"I said quickly!" He roared.

"We found him!" One shouted and bowed his head, his antennae sweeping across the floor.

"Found who? I can't read your mind!" He harrumphed.

The second namek bowed just as low, "We're sorry, Lord Guru. We meant that we found him, the man who killed your brother."

Guru sat up in his chair and twisted on the cushion. "Hmmm, this is good news." He nodded his head, looking to his son, Nail, who observed this situation with more alertness than the two namekians combined. "Hmmm, kill him."

Nail jerked as the two stood, his long vest swaying with the motion. He lifted a hand towards him, dark eyes widening. "Ah, Lord Guru, what of Don Piccolo?" He side-stepped pointedly, not allowing the other two nameks to exit the den just yet.

"What about him?" Guru shouted.

Nail dropped to a knee respectfully and he bowed his head, his hand curled into a fist as it touched the floor. "Lord Guru, you promised Don Piccolo you would allow him his revenge."

"Well he isn't here." Guru raised a brow.

Nail frowned, his brow's drawing together and Guru's lips twitched, schooling his features. His son was horribly inadequate at keeping secrets.

"Lord Guru, let me run and tell him. It would be a grievous mistake to not keep the pact you made with our future Don." He lifted his eyes. Guru's brow twitched a second time, smug pride reigning supreme. Maybe his son had grown a backbone after all.

"Fine." He drawled, his voice echoing through his lofty den. "But he must hurry. I will not tolerate tardiness!"

Nail bowed a bit lower and stood, instantly marching from the room and past the two trained Enforcers as if they were nothing more than simple maids.

Guru hummed, tapping his fingers upon his chair. He would not discourage this alliance. It was favorable and possibly profitable. He would let the boy live. For now.

* * *

His mother set a platter of eggs and bacon upon the table, carefully dishing it out to both her husband and son, and Gohan thanked her quietly and began to eat.

"Thank you, Chichi." His father said and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. "It looks amazing."

She smiled back at him and patted his hand, hesitating a moment before they released the other. She took a seat and filled her own plate with her much more modest helping and then cleared her throat, her fingers resting atop her napkin.

Gohan stiffened, staring at that napkin. She wasn't going to eat just yet. That meant something important was about to happen. "Mother?"

His father cleared his throat and Gohan reluctantly looked at him, gripping his fork tight.

Goku shifted in his seat and tugged on his collar, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. "Gohan, we…we need to tell you something."

Gohan looked away and stared at his plate. He didn't think he could endure any more surprises.

He waited, expecting him to look back at him again, but when Gohan refused to look away from his food, his father again coughed and continued.

"Gohan; when I told you what I…I do for the Saiyan Mafia. It…it was because I had made a deal with some very important people. They promised to help us get away from them."

He raised his eyes slowly to look at his father, his fingers carefully setting the fork down.

Goku offered a weak smile and rubbed the tip of his nose thoughtfully. "Well, the thing is, they are coming today to get us, to take us away from The Family and we'll be going far, far away. We have to move." He finished in a rush.

Blinking at his parents, Gohan shifted in his seat. "So, you mean you aren't going to…to work as a fighter anymore?"

His father smiled, "No, Gohan, not anymore. We'll live somewhere else and I'll work somewhere boring. We might not be able to buy you as many books-"

Chichi snorted at that and Goku laughed awkwardly, "-but I won't be working for Mr. Vegeta anymore." He stressed and Gohan wilted slightly. This ball of tension he didn't even know he had been feeling released abruptly and Gohan scrubbed at his eyes, chasing off the tears in time, but unable to stop a shattered laugh.

"Gohan, honey?" his mother reached toward him from across the table.

"I'm okay, mother. I'm actually excited to move." He grinned and then grabbed up his fork and shoveled his food into his mouth. He ate half of what he normally would for breakfast, but his stomach turned summersaults and he already knew what sort of things he wanted to pack. Leaping from the table, he placed his plate in the sink, his tail raised high and swaying behind him. Gohan paused in the doorway, just long enough to look back at his mother and father as a sense of newness washed over him. He loved them. He loved his father for doing this, doing the right thing, getting away from The Family and hurting people. He was sort of…proud of him.

"When do we leave?"

"Tonight, after dark, though the agents will be here this afternoon to prepare us for the trip." Goku said, nodding his head. "Pack light; only bring what you need. We need to be able to move quickly."

Gohan nodded, and the smile on his father's face looked real, felt real, and was his all over. His father hadn't looked this relaxed in months. Everything was going to be okay. He just knew it.

Yet as he began folding his clothes and placing them into his suitcase, Gohan couldn't help but wish they were leaving sooner. The sooner his father didn't have to work for the Mafia, the sooner Gohan wouldn't feel like a black cloud was hovering over them, heavy with lightning, and just waiting to strike at any moment.

* * *

Piccolo decided he was going to rip their arms off and beat them to death with their own limbs – and then beat them again for good measure. They left him! The Enforcers nail had informed him of had left to stake out the damn house without even leaving him an official driver to take him there. Nail went to work instantly and within minutes commandeered a car for him and they followed the directions to the little yellow house on the outskirts of town.

They drove around to the back of the house, off near the edge of the woods and just below an embankment to hide their presence from curious eyes. The wind hissed through the trees and whipped several dust flurries through the streets, gathering up leaves and bits of paper before it shattered against the cool bricks of a stone fence.

Piccolo stepped out of the car, smooth and calm. He straightened his black jacket and tie, checked his cufflinks, and Nail followed behind and to his right. Stopping beside his Enforcer's car window, Piccolo rapped his knuckles sharply again the glass and clenched his jaw as the men jumped inside. Piccolo narrowed his eyes and cautious looks exchanged between the two men's faces. Hesitant, they climbed out and Piccolo glared, never removing his eyes from the two nameks who had failed their Don.

"Uh, Sir…" the driver said and opened his mouth like a fish, sweat gathering along his brow.

Piccolo's fist smashed his nose in. He dropped with a curse and groan. The second Enforcer stiffened with eyes wide and he stared at Piccolo's shoes.

Stalking around the car to the second man, Piccolo grabbed the front of his suit and shoved him backwards against the hood of the car, his nose just inches from his. "The next time you leave me behind I will not be so kind." He dug an elbow into his ribs and the man hissed, nodding his head, antennae drooping with the pain.

"U-understood, sir!"

Piccolo backhanded him. "Don. I am your Don regardless of Guru's current stewardship. Understood?"

"Yes, Don Piccolo." He raised his hands to placate him.

It irked him. The namek was simply saying what he wanted to hear. He shoved him back, feeling more than seeing the much older man's eye roll.

Piccolo turned, folded his arms over his chest and glared up at the pretty little home. "That's where the bastard lives?" He studied the house, wondering what was going on up the path lined with flowers, past the white-washed fence, and behind those white lace curtains. So domestic and yet Piccolo couldn't stand it. His father's murderer lived there.

The first man came around, wiping at his bleeding nose and he bobbed his head, "Yeah. A child wearing white face paint and rosy cheeks came to the door and the guy left with him twenty or thirty minutes ago-"

"He left?" Piccolo turned on him, rage bubbling up and spilling out.

"We had no orders to stop him! J-just to wait for you!"

He grimaced and ground his teeth against that but he couldn't punch the man again. Piccolo would have outright killed him if he had begrudged him the opportunity to fulfill his revenge. He snarled and turned sharply, storming up the embankment and to the back of the house. He heard Nail chase after him before even the Enforcers fell into place, and with a single kick to the backdoor, Piccolo burst inside, wood splintering and raining down around him from the shattered doorjamb.

He saw the woman first. Dark hair pulled back in a bun and prim and proper in her blue dress. She shouted and fell back against the countertop, eyes wide and hand pressed to her mouth. Piccolo pointed and one of his Enforcers rushed forward, backhanding her across the cheek and jerking her arms behind her back. She struggled, hissing like a wildcat.

Piccolo ignored her in favor of focusing on the boy. A boy who looked the mirror image of the man who he witnessed stabbing his father. If nothing more, the son confirmed that his men had found the correct Sayian.

"Gohan! Let me go! Run, Gohan!" She screamed and kicked, ramming her heel into the foot of the namek behind her. The second Enforcer stepped in front of her and slapped her face, her lip splitting and cheek swelling.

"Mother!" His shout rang through the house and he made for her, his face ashen and eyes wide.

A quick step to the side, Piccolo moved in front of him and punched him, sending the boy sprawling backwards. He leapt atop him, straddling his chest and he punched the boy again and again. He did not care where he struck the boy – arm, face, chest, shoulders. Piccolo's lips curled back and he snarled like a beast, punching and punching and punching, unseeing of anything but the face that matched that of the man who killed his father.

"Gohan!" the woman screamed behind him, screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, her voice rising in pitch until she abruptly stopped and he felt a quiver as her body hit the floor.

"-on-"the noises of the world around him trembled, fading in and out.

"Pic-"his fist made half-contact with the boy's eye.

"Do-" he slip his lip.

"-n Piccolo!"

He jerked back, panting hard and practically quivering in place.

Nail took his arms, holding him still and Piccolo rolled his shoulder, pushing him off but only half heartedly. He stared at the boy; still curled up beneath him, face covered with his arms, and bits of red smears decorated his crisp white shirt.

"Don Piccolo." Nail hissed in his ear and Piccolo jerked a second time, leaning back further and sitting on the boy's belly.

"What do you want us to do?" Nail asked, glancing over, leading Piccolo's gaze to the unconscious woman. Just as bloodied as the boy's face was, her hair had come undone and she looked so frail suddenly, much younger than before with her hair up. He looked back to the boy under him, opening his mouth, still breathing hard.

"Sir?"

"Send a message to him. Kill th-"

"Please…" the boy croaked, his arms spreading away from his face, his features contorting into pain.

Piccolo sniffed, lifting his chin to glare down at the boy. A boy he realized was only a few years younger than him; atleast, he thought so. Humans and saiyans aged so slowly compared to nameks.

"Please, don't hurt my mother." His lower lip trembled and blood slid down his chin.

Piccolo raised his hand, preparing to strike him, but he hesitated. He couldn't take his eyes off the boy. Large brown eyes never looked away from him, never flickered with fear or hatred, or selfish desires. The boy stared at him, pleading, yes, but with tears gathering in his eyes as he spoke the word 'mother.'

"Please don't hurt mother. I'll take the punishment. Just let her go." The tears slipped down his cheeks, running through the blood and staining his collar a saturated pink.

He wrapped his fingers around the boy's warm neck, slowly applying pressure – not enough to crush his windpipe, but enough to close it off. Piccolo's heart raced, his nails digging into the young flesh.

"Take me, not her."

What was wrong with this boy? Who begged to die for another?

"Sir? The woman?" One of the Enforcers questioned behind him and he saw from the corner of his eye the namek lift her head up by her hair.

The boy's legs kicked out only once, his mouth working as his air slowly closed off and his face grew red. His hands settled over his, small and gentle. They rested there and nothing more – his nails never dug into his flesh to claw at his knuckles in a wild attempt to free himself. No desperate thrashing about, no last strangled wheezes in a sad mockery of a scream as he bucked against his killer. The boy simply stared, first at his mother's unconscious form and then back to him; making him promise. Those brown eyes never looked away till they rolled back in his head, lips a discolored purple against his paling skin.

Jerking his hands away and slapping the boy, the child gagged and shuttered, his lungs filling with air and his hands clung to Piccolo's shirt sleeves.

"Leave her. She'll bare witness to our vengeance. Her husband will know why we came; and if he wants his son back, he'll find us."

Nail jerked his hands back, and Piccolo turned, narrowing his eyes at the young man's surprised look. "Sir…."

"The children are the future, are they not? What better way to break a man than by taking away his hopes and dreams?" He stood then, pointing to the boy fading in and out of consciousness. "Bring him. He's mine now."

"Yes, Don Piccolo." Nail bowed his head, clearly unnerved.

Piccolo agreed, he was unnerved as well. He had never seen such a thing done in all his years of apprenticing with the Enforcers. His father had never done such a thing. But the boy's eyes, so wide and honest, had complete faith in him. A child he did not know trusted him to keep a promise. Piccolo stared at the boy as Nail gathered him up in his arms and carried him from the house and back out to the cars.

Inhaling deeply, Piccolo turned and knelt by the woman, taking her hair from his Enforcer and he turned her to face him, studying her face for a moment before one of his men wasted water and splashed it across her face. She gasped and coughed, shaking where she lay prone.

"Listen woman." He gave her head a little shake, forcing her eyes to open and stare at him unfocused. "Your husband killed one of our own this week. I originally was planning to kill him. An eye for an eye. But I have chosen to take his son's life instead." He leaned down, baring his fangs. "He took from me someone I loved, so I'll take from him someone he loved." He snarled, "He'll bleed pretty, I'm sure." He vowed and shoved her away from him.

"No, Gohan..." she slurred, her hand reaching out to Piccolo.

He stood and marched from the house as the Enforcers beat the woman one last time to ensure their message would be received.

By the time Piccolo reached his car with the boy in the trunk, Nail had the car started, sitting patiently in the driver's seat, his knuckles a pale olive green color against his grip upon the steering wheel.

The Enforcers left the house, wiping the woman's blood from their knuckles.

Piccolo climbed into the passenger side, his stomach flipping at the idea of sitting so close to the boy – even if he was in the trunk. "Take me home."

"Don, Sir, this isn't wise." Nail whispered even as he shifted the car into gear.

Piccolo stiffened, licking his lips. "It is my decision."

"Yes, it is. But is it wise to take a child?"

"He's older than I was when I first began working for my father." Piccolo stared at the road ahead as Nail eased the car out into the open and back onto the road. "He is old enough to pay for the sins of the father."

Nail's fists squeezed the steering wheel again. "This may mean war."

Piccolo snorted, propping his elbow up on the edge of the door. "We've been at war for nearly fifty years. What will change in bringing it out in the open?"

"Perhaps more than you think."

* * *

The Feds swept through the house, checking every room, every nook, and under every bed. Goku dropped to his knees, his voice hoarse from the scream he let loose the moment he saw his wife. He gathered her body into his arms and cradled her head against his shoulder.

What happened? The Feds were here, just outside and waiting to take them away. Who found out?

"All clear out here." A guy called from the backdoor, his scarred face twisting with remorse as he stared at Goku.

"The bedrooms are clear, too." The small, child-looking man said, his white face grim.

Goku pushed Chichi's hair away watching her lips move slightly and her eyes flutter behind her lids. He kissed her cheeks and pulled her closer to him, practically wrapping himself around her beaten body protectively. He felt a little gasp against his neck and he gently pushed her hair from her face, cupping her cheek. "Chichi, Chichi..."

Tien, the Lead on this, gripped his gun tight, and Goku could only stare as he looked back at the scar-faced man and nodded. He instantly turned around and prowled the edge of the woods.

"Chaozu?" Tien turned and Goku's blood turned cold.

The small man moved further into the kitchen, looking first at Goku then to Tien and he shook his head subtly. Tien's jaw tightened and Goku stiffened, lifting his wife from the floor as he stood.

Tien looked away, adjusting his hat just enough so all three of his eyes were hidden by the brim. "Yamcha!" He shouted and the scarred faced man ran back up the the path, poking his head into the kitchen. "Get their bags. We're leaving."

Goku looked between all the agents, hugging his wife tighter till she gave another gasp and her fingers tightened in his shirt. "We're leaving? But..." Goku wracked his brain, the horror and confusion reeking havoc. "But...Gohan!" Goku yelled, and that hard lump of fear burst forth. No! No! They couldn't possibly have been talking about Gohan!

He rushed from the kitchen, Chichi whispering against his neck. He pushed past Tien as the man said something that fell on deaf ears, and Goku stood in the middle of his son's room, staring at the suitcase sitting on the bed filled half with his clothing and half with books.

"Gohan!" He cried out, turning round and round, desperate to find him - and then Chichi sobbed against him and an arm wrapped about his neck. She clung to him, frail and shaking, and Goku's back met the wall, clutching her.

"Gohan..."

"They took him. He's gone. He said his blood-"She managed out before a wail escaped.

"What? No...No..." Goku shook his head. His hand slid into Chichi's hair and he found himself falling, sliding down along the wall, his legs numb. He hid his face against his wife's shoulder and choked back his own cry as his hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

He didn't know how long they sat there, but Tien shook him, forcing his attention up to him and Goku stared past him, his son first and foremost on his mind.

"We need to go. If they took the boy, there is no telling how soon they will be back for you."

Goku shook his head, his lips parting to protest, but Tien narrowed his eyes, his hand resting upon the gun at his hip. "Now."

"Gohan..." He choked. "I will not leave without him!"

Tien's lips thinned and the knowing look he gave him was lemon in a wound. Goku knew all too well. He had been an Enforcer and he knew the likelihood of Gohan surviving this. Revenge killings were perfectly normal in the Mafia Families; and children some of the easiest targets. He couldn't let Chichi identify their baby while he lay in a ditch; possibly mangled and unrecognizable; nor could he deal with the expectation that any day now his son's hand would show up in a box on their doorstep.

Tien's voice dropped and Goku felt the intensity behind his words. "We'll find your son. You need to focus on protecting who you can right now. Your wife. We'll do the leg work." The man held his hand out, jaw set. "We won't leave him behind."

He just couldn't leave Gohan like this. What sort of father was he?

A whistle filled the house and the scar faced man waved his hand. "Tien."

He nodded and Goku recognized the nerves forming as they drew attention from neighbors and possible enemies. Tien nodded and all three eyes settled on him. "Please,Goku."

"I need to find him." His voice trembled. Heartbroken and so angry, he wanted to march in and demand his son back. Don Vegeta couldn't do this to him. Not now.

"If we find him, you can come with us on the raid, but first, we need to get you out of here."

It hurt so much, realizing he had to agree with his logic. He couldn't help Gohan, because he didn't know where he could possibly be. If he was dead...

He stood then, Chichi wrapped in his arms and sobbing. She beat against his shoulder with weak fists. Goku nodded and followed Tien to the side of the house. He settled in the back of their car, hating the way the seat squeaked as he sat down, and hating the fact the short man, Chaozu, sat next to them in the back. The place Gohan should have been. Goku bowed his head and hid his face against Chichi's shoulder and he ground his teeth together. He should have stayed at home. He shouldn't have left.

* * *

Author's note:

I am mean to Gohan~ sadness. OH WELL. :D How do you think he'll survive with a man like Piccolo? :3 Let me know~ I love-love-love reviews!


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I do now own the Mafia - I do not own Nameks or Saiyans - which makes me a little sad, but OH WELL. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan. This chapter has a lot of hit'age of childrenz o_o

* * *

~~~~~5~~~~~

He was warm. Snuggled in against the pillow under his head, Gohan hummed a contented sigh. His head hurt and his throat hurt, but with the comfort surrounding him, and the relaxing smell of books, the pain behind his eyes was easy enough to ignore. Maybe after they finished moving mother would let him…

He stiffened and his fingers curled in the rough material. He sucked in a breath and remembered it all. Cracking an eye open, Gohan first saw only the flickering flames within the hearth, and slowly he focused upon the shadowy length in front of it. A shiny pair of shoes stood in front of the fire, their surface catching the dances of light in the flames. He squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowed, but the pain in his face made him flinch and he shifted in the pile of blankets upon the floor.

"Wake up."

He whimpered, insides twisting as he heard the same deep voice from his nightmares.

"I said wake up, son of a murderer."

Gohan's eyes flew open and he raised himself from the cocoon. Moving his eyes up the length of the man before him, Gohan swallowed thickly against his aching throat as he took in his captor's considerable height.

He was namekian; so no saying what his real age was in relation to his height. Nameks aged so quickly.

The namek dropped to a knee and Gohan inhaled sharply, inching away from him. He was the namek from his kitchen. The red, smoldering eyes were something never to be unseen. His eyes dug into his skin and set his insides smoldering with that single glare, and Gohan wanted so badly to get out from under that gaze.

"My-my mother-"

"Lives." He cut into his words, reaching for him and twisting his fingers into his hair harshly. Gohan whimpered and tears sprung to his eyes traitorously.

The namek snorted, forcing his head back further as he inched closer to him, studying him, eyes drilling his and Gohan reached up to him suddenly, cupping the smooth green cheeks within his much smaller hands and stared back, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Thank you." It was the only thing he could think of. A man like this, Gohan knew in his gut he wouldn't be walking away from this. All the trouble this namekian went through to find his family, and him calling his father a murderer – obviously this was a personal vendetta. Beating him, his mother, kidnapping him, explained it all as his hair tore from his scalp and his lip began to bleed. The namek may have already arranged to sell him to some factory as child labor. More than likely, he would kill him. Yet, this man had kept his promise and he was grateful for that.

The namek jerked backwards, pulling his face from Gohan's fingers, his red eyes wide and flickering. His fingers gripped his hair all the tighter, his nose wrinkling as his lips pulled back, and he looked murderous while bordering on the edge of confusion.

Gohan stared at him and dropped his hands weakly, his lips parting – then the namek backhanded him and Gohan shouted in pain, flung backward like a doll and cracked his head upon the hardwood flooring. He curled in on himself, grabbing the bump already rising there and he shuddered, feeling the namek loom over him, straddling him like he had in his kitchen and jerking him up by the collar of his shirt.

"Don't ever touch me. Understand?"

Gohan hadn't known people could growl like that; like a beast fresh from the wild.

"I asked you a question!" The namek shook him and Gohan cried out, tears erupting and he didn't care. He hurt!

"Yes!"

The namek released him, standing over him. "You are to address me as Don Piccolo. Understand?"

Gohan whimpered, wishing the room would stop spinning but he nodded, swallowing hard to keep his breakfast down. "Yes."

Piccolo growled, one of those shiny feet shoving its way past his hand and head and he dug the heel of his shoe into his fingers.

"Yes, Mr. Piccolo!" he screamed and Piccolo instantly took his foot away, leaving him to cradle the bruising fingers to his chest.

"That will do." Piccolo grunted and turned, striding away from him swift and graceful. "Nail will be here shortly to clean you up. I expect you downstairs in an hour. I have work for you to do." And the door clicked shut and a lock sounded on the other side.

Rolling over, he wrapped himself in his arms. Gohan shuddered and a sob escaped him. He didn't care, he just wanted to go home. He wouldn't survive this place. He just couldn't.

* * *

Nail came and helped him clean up. Embarrassment was only the beginning of it. Gohan felt the room spin and he constantly toppled over, his body obeying gravity against the wishes of his internal balance. He gripped a chair as he stood in the wash basin while Nail scrubbed his body pink and poured water over his head. At least he could cry during a bath without the namek noticing. The only time he moved against his nursemaid's wishes was when Nail gripped his tail and he yowled like a cat in pain, leaping from the basin and falling hard against a table with soap and bath salts piled atop it.

The namek only frowned at him and gripped his arm tightly, forcing him back into the basin where he again took his tail and scrubbed hard.

Gohan bit his knuckles to keep from screaming.

Afterwards, Nail dressed him like a doll. Moving him this way and that, jerking the clothing into place. The dated clothing sat ill upon his rather solid frame and the namek grunted in disapproval yet continued with his task. Hair combed roughly and feet shoved into a pair of too large shoes, Gohan followed the namek from the room, staring at his feet to keep his balance. The bump on the back of his head throbbed, keeping time with his heart as though taunting him, reminding him of every second he spent here in this place.

"Clean the stove and stock the wood." Nail ordered and turned, leaving Gohan in what he would have called the kitchen, except for the distinct lack of solid food. He shuffled toward the wood burning stove, kneeling in front of it before he fell down, and he stared at the heavy black latch, his fingers gripping the metal.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder, Gohan looked to the kitchen doorway and into the large parlor, the stairs twisting up to his left – he couldn't see Nail.

Licking his lips, Gohan glanced to his left and right. Unlike in his home, there wasn't a kitchen door out to the back of the home, but there were windows and an iron poker sitting next to the stove.

Ash gathered in his mouth, its scent heavy where he knelt, and he found it hard to swallow. He shifted, peeking over his shoulder again, and he grasped the poker, pulling its heavy chill to his chest and he stood, eyes wide, heart pounding against his white knuckled fists. He took a step to his left, stopping as the click of shoes echoed from the parlor.

The window or the door. He could see the door, just in front of the staircase. The shoes came closer and Gohan rushed for the archway leading into the kitchen, only a minor stumble upon his clumsy feet jilted his treason.

He stood to the right of the doorway, poker raised to his shoulder like he would have held a baseball bat. Panic set in and Gohan held his breath. He couldn't even hit the ball that one time his father had tried to teach him to play a sport!

Nail stepped into the room, his shoulders stiffening as he looked upon the empty stove and Gohan had no choice, he swung. The air rushed from Nail's lungs and he doubled over, holding his stomach. Gohan swung again, this time a cry bursting free, something primal and raw ripped at him as he chopped the poker down onto Nail's back, dropping the namek. He ran then, wild and unseeing. He dropped his weapon, he made it past the front door of the home, and erupted out into the middle of the street, staring up at surprised green faces no matter where he turned. Gohan backed away, fleeing down the street, away from them, anywhere but toward one of them.

He ran till he couldn't breathe and then forced himself to keep going. If he tripped he got back up, if he skinned his knee, he ignored it, he ran till he couldn't run; and as he burst from an alley – spying the forest ahead that he knew so well, a forest he had grown up playing in with his father and knew if he got there, he could hide from them. Gohan flung himself forward – and a body stepped into his path and grabbed hold of him.

Gohan choked upon his ragged breathes, pulling weakly against the large and firm grip of the massive namek in front of him. He shook his head, but the namek backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the dirt and he couldn't move. Stars again exploded before his eyes and he vomited, acrid and sour.

The namek grasped the back of his shirt, jerking him to his feet and he dragged him through the streets like the spoils after a hunt. The journey back seemed far shorter. He could smell rain in the air. The harder he breathed, the harder it was for him to move. He clung to the large hand at the back of his neck and Gohan grit his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. He really was going to die this time.

Lugged up the front porch, his captor dropped him. Gohan fell forward onto his face, his eyes meeting with a pair of shiny shoes.

"I caught him just before the forest….Don." The large namek bit the last word out, his voice a volcano of strength that matched the grip he had felt on his clothing.

Gohan rolled to his back. If he was going to die, he was going to die head on. Piccolo frowned down at him, his face emotionless save for the deep furrow between his brow ridges. "He will have to be punished."

Nail stood next to Piccolo, holding his stomach still with a hunch to his back. He simply looked at Gohan then looked away, his jaw tightening in anger. Gohan's lip trembled and he bit it to keep it still.

The largest namek Gohan had ever seen snorted. The namek scowled directly at him, the size of his jaw could crack walnuts and hatred poured off him like water on a duck. Gohan wanted to sink directly into the floor to get away from those dark, burning eyes. At least Mr. Piccolo's red pair flickered and contemplated what to do; his eyes – his eyes already knew what he would do if given the chance.

"You are already too soft on him, Piccolo." The namek looked back to Mr. Piccolo and Gohan swallowed, his heart still racing.

Mr. Piccolo's shoulders stiffened and he drew himself up, red eyes looking how they had in Gohan's kitchen. "Slug, you should be careful-"

"He is young and a saiyan!" Slug's voice rose, filling the space around him. "They are born animals! They will fight and scratch and bite their way to freedom if they are not broken properly." He sneered and poked the toe of his boot into Gohan's side. "Even for a half-breed pup, he will still be nothing but a wild beast."

Mr. Piccolo made a sound in his chest, a growl, and Gohan looked back to him, sweat cooling on his brow and neck. With a lift of his chin and a slight flare of his nostrils, Mr. Piccolo folded his arms over his chest, hiding his face from Gohan. He felt a bead of sweat tickle down between his shoulder blades.

"What do you have in mind, Slug?"

Slug smiled and Gohan shivered, grateful his stomach was empty. "Well, Don Piccolo, I have a few ideas on how to put this dog in his place. Though, it'll take time."

"Time is meaningless so long as the training is sufficient." Mr. Piccolo raised a brow, shifting slightly from one foot.

"Your home, though..." Slug waved a hand in the air as though he were bored, "lovely, isn't adequately equipment for such a task as a saiyan pup." He smirked and Gohan looked to Mr. Piccolo desperately. "My quarters, on the other hand, are more than ready for such a task."

No, not him. Gohan shuddered. He didn't like Slug; he had only known him for less than two minutes and already Gohan knew in his gut he did not want this namek anywhere near him. Mr. Piccolo's lips pursed and Gohan shifted, struggling to his elbows as he sat up. Slug grunted and his foot thudded down onto him, shoving him flat onto his back.

"Stay down!"

Mr. Piccolo tapped a shiny shoe, his antennae twitching slightly as he gazed directly at Gohan. "Done. You will take him to your facility and begin training today. I'll visit in one weeks time to see how the situation is progressing."

Slug bowed his head, "My…Don…honors me."

* * *

Author's note:

Gohan meets the Nameks. Oh dear... again, I'm mean to Gohan. It actually gets worse from here... _ it will EVENTUALLY get better...


End file.
